I'm Always Right Here
by koalateacontent
Summary: Baz decodes to pay Simon a visit, only to find him injured after an encounter with a gang of homophobes. He proceeds to care for his boyfriend.


I strut down the carpeted hallway to Bunce and Simon's flat, cheerfully humming to myself, eager to see my boyfriend after a long day on campus. I am unable to suppress the smile that tugs at my lips at the mere thought of him. I don't think that I will ever live another day without pondering the fact that after seven treacherous years of pining for him, Simon Snow is finally mine. And I am his. My arms are longing to hold him, my nose to smell his cinnamon apple aroma, my ears to hear his soothing voice and my eyes to see his angelic being. Simon Snow is my best friend, my boyfriend, my soulmate, the love of my life. With him, I have every reason to be overjoyed.

However when I reach the door to the apartment, my gleeful mood dissipates. It is long past four o'clock and Simon should be home by now, lounging on the sofa with the front door unlocked (Bunce keeps at him to lock it, but he just can't be bothered to do so), however today the door is locked and it gives me an uneasy feeling - something isn't right. Scanning the deserted corridor, I slide my wand from the waistband of my jeans and cast a quick "open sesame" on the door before cautiously replacing the wand. Once again, I grab ahold of the doorknob and the door swings open. I let myself in to the cramped entryway only to prove my earlier hunch to be true.

The apartment is always immaculately tidy - it even smells clean - but on this occasion appears to be quite the opposite. Simon's shoes have been discarded hastily on the mat, his bag thrown across the room and, to my utter horror, the air hosts the metallic scent of... blood. As I stoop to pick up Simon's shoes, with the intention of tidying up a tad, I notice something else; a path of small blood droplets leading around the corner into the hall where the bedrooms and bathroom are situated. That's also when I hear it. The muffled sobs, originating from the same place as the blood. I can swear that a feeble voice is calling my name. Anxiety twisting in my gut, I drop the shoes, thoughts of cleaning up abandoned. I dash around the bend only to find -

"Simon!" I cry in complete disbelief. He lay on his side on the floor, as if he had collapsed there (come to think of it he probably had). His leathery wings are spread motionless behind him and his tail hangs limp. I rush over to him as fast as I possibly can and sink to the floor beside him. His clothes and hair are caked with dirt and grass, his body is shaking because of his vigorous crying and although I cannot see his face, I know that he's injured. He reeks of blood and sweat and he's practically dripping with fear. "Simon," I say again, softly this time. I reach out towards him, glide one arm under his knees and the other behind his shoulders and scoop his frail body into my lap. I stare aghast into his face. There's a darkening bruise on his cheek and a broad but shallow scratch, like a fingernail mark, just above it. There is dried blood below his left nostril - it must have been the source of the mess on the floor. His eyes are bloodshot and tears trickle down his face ceaselessly. "What happened?" I wonder aloud, deep concern evident in my voice.

"I-I," he stutters before he's overcome by tears. He Burris his face in my shoulder, hands grasping at my jumper. I caress him reassuringly, stroking his arm, while violent sobs wrack his body. He seems so fragile, weak even. Then he pulls his face away from my body, gasping for air.

"Deep breaths, Simon," I murmur, "you're going to be alright." He gazes up at me through soaking eyelashes, scared and uncertain.

Finally, Simon catches his breath and tries to speak again. His voice shakes and rasps and he continues to cry. "I was l-leaving class," he stutters, "th-these g-g-guys - maybe five or s-six of them - they-they cornered me a-and," he burst into tears again, hiccuping. I wipe the tears from his face, careful not to hurt him any further than he already has been. I run my fingers through his matted curls in attempt to soothe him. Tremors shoot through his whole body and he is drenched in sweat. "Th-they were yelling at m-me," he attempts a second time, "they called me a-a f-f-f-" he is unable to finish again.

"Okay," I say, barely whispering, "okay I understand."

He inhales greatly, I feel his ribs expand beneath my grip on him, and he grimaces. Nevertheless he opens his mouth to speak again. "Th-these guys said I w-w-was weak and useless. They t-told be th-that I w-was a disgusting queer and I-I should be ash-ashamed," he manages. His breathes deeply once again and continues, his words a little more clear this time. "I told them to stop, but they wouldn't. One of them punched me and when I tried to shove him away, the rest joined in. They didn't stop 'till I was on the ground and helpless, then they ran away, laughing."

All I can think to say is: "Simon." I don't even know what I'm feeling. Anger, obviously, because how dare somebody beat up my Simon and leave him like this. Sympathy because my boyfriend is in pain, crying in my arms. And guilt because I wasn't there to fight for him, the way I promised I would. But it feels as though there's something more stirring beneath my skin.

"Baz," Simon's meek voice comes almost as a shock to me, tearing me away from my own thoughts. "Do you still love me?"

Tears well up in my eyes at that question. "Simon, I love you more than anything," I reply, filled with certainty.

"B-but I'm worthless," he mumbles.

"What?" I yelp, staring down into his sky-blue eyes in awe.

"I'm just a weak Normal, who can't even defend himself against some idiotic bullies. I'm so pathetic, and you - you deserve much better," he wails.

I draw him closer to my chest, pressing our bodies together, and kiss the top of his head lightly. "Simon, firstly, if anything, that fight was completely unfair. Secondly, I've already told you that it makes no difference to me whether you're a Normal or a Mage or-or an alien, for god's sake, as long as you are you. And thirdly, you are not weak or pathetic or whatever else those jerks told you - if I ever stumble upon them, they'll be very sorry.

"Simon, you're the best thing that ever happened to me and I am so proud to be able to call you my boyfriend. I love you," I kiss his head once more, my fingertips brushing his jawline. He cranes his neck to meet my lips and I plant a brief kiss on his mouth.

"Let's get you cleaned up, love," I say, breaking the kiss. I rise, lifting Simon up with me and carry him a few steps down the hallway and into the washroom. I set him down on the counter and begin to run the water in the sink. When it is warm, I help him to wash the dirt, blood and dried tears from his face. I am careful in cleaning the scratch on his cheek, ensuring that it is free of dirt to prevent infection. Simon's face contorts slightly, causing panic to rise once again. "What's wrong?" I question. He reaches down and removes my hand that has drifted to his side, just below his ribs, then he begins to lift his shirt. He tears it over his head and allows it to fall to the tiled floor. My eyes take in the sight of his bruised torso, cringing at the thought of the pain he must be in. "Oh Simon..." I trail off. I slip my wand free from the waistband of my trousers, but Simon places his hand over mine before I can muster up a spell to cast on him.

"No magic," he pleads. Ever since the incident that robbed him of his magical abilities, he's hated the use of magic, especially when he's in the vicinity. However, this is no time for that nonsense.

"Simon you're hurt, just let me heal you," I coax in my best attempt to reassure him. I can't allow him to suffer, not when I am perfectly capable of taking all of his pain away.

But he refuses. "It's minor," he claims, "you don't need to do anything. Besides, it'll heal on it's own."

"Yeah, I know, but I can do it a lot quicker," I argue.

"No, Baz!" he nearly shouts, "No magic. I can't- you don't need to- please." I can hear the desperation in his voice. Reluctantly, I put the wand away.

"I'm sorry, Simon," I say quietly, "I should've understood, but I can't bear seeing you like this - hurt." The volume of my voice diminishes. "I'm supposed to protect you."

I can see the worry flicker across his features, but he tries to mask it. "It's alright," he tells me, "I'm going to be okay, there's nothing anyone could have done anyway. Just no magic, agreed?" I agree. Though I hadn't counted on Simon's refusal, I know that abiding by his needs is for the best.

I brush my fingertips over his chest, puzzling over how one might treat such injuries. I have never in my life been forced to deal with a problem without magic and my mind is reeling in search of a solution when an idea strikes me. "Maybe you should get a shower," I suggest, "it'll be good for you - relaxing and such."

He hesitates but eventually says, "yeah, ok." And with that he leaps from the counter and ushers me out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind me. I reach out to close it, but he stops me and I decide not to prod the matter. I stalk out to the kitchen and retrieve my cellphone from the back pocket of my jeans shooting a text off to Penelope, then proceeding to retrieve a rag and cleaning up the (literally) bloody mess on the floor.

Penelope Bunce is something short of a genius, I must admit. Although she is rather vexing, she can solve almost any problem tossed her way, making her the perfect person to ask when in need of assistance. "How do you treat bruises? Without magic." I had typed. She replies almost instantly, with complete disregard for my question. "What? Why? Is everything ok?" Then she seems to clue in. "Oh my God, it's Simon, isn't it?" She asks.

"Well..." I don't want to tell her that yes, as a matter of fact, it is Simon - she can be rather fearsome when she jumps to conclusions - but, to my utter dismay, it is necessary. "Yes."

"WHAT?" she answers.

"He got beaten up by a bunch of homophobic blokes after class," I explain, "he's minorly injured and I need to know how to fix it without magic."

"Do you need me to come there, wherever you are?" she asks, seemingly determined to avoid the original question.

"We're at your flat and no, Bunce, I do not need you here. Just tell me what to do. Please," I demand, growing impatient. Simon will be done in the shower soon and I need to be prepared to help him.

"Okay fine," she says, "it's quite simple actually. Just use ice."

"That's it?" I wonder incredulously, "whatever, thank you."

I turn off my phone just as I hear the water shut off in the bathroom. Simon emerges a moment later, water dripping from his slim figure, looking more lively than before. He crosses the hall to his bedroom and exits about ten minutes later, wearing fitted blue jeans and a jumper that he stole from me last month. His wings are folded beneath the material and his tail swings from his lower back. He looks frightened and vulnerable. "Simon-" I begin, intent on convincing him to ice his bruises, but I am not able to finish that thought because in a split second, he has sprinted across the room and thrown his arms around my neck, clinging to me for dear life.

"I'm afraid," he mumbles into my shoulder.

"What are you afraid of?" I ask him calmly.

"Those blokes, the ones that beat me up," he whimpers, "what if they do it again? And what if the whole campus finds out what a weakling I am and I'll be alone forever? And-and-" the tears start to gush from his eyes once more.

I snake my arms around his waist, forcing him closer to me. He grips me tightly, as if I am about to disintegrate at any moment. His slender frame trembles and I feel the heat radiating off of him. He sobs into the crook of my neck and I hold him, patting his back. "Simon, love, it's ok," I whisper into his hair.

"Don't leave me Baz," he begs, his voice wavering, "please don't leave."

"I'm here, I'm not going anywhere," I confirm. I guide my grip downwards, until I have a firm grasp on his thighs and, before he registers what I'm about to do, I lift him up. I wrap his legs around my hips and carry him into his and Penny's living room. I sit us down on the sofa with Simon on top of me, straddling my lap, still clinging to me with a death grip. He raises his head and looks me directly in the eyes. His face is tear stained, scratched and bruised, but still so alluring.

"You are so beautiful," I breathe. My hands fly to his face, I trace the valleys of his cheekbones and the slight lift of his chin. He smiles weakly, shyly. Suddenly his silken lips are pressed to mine and it's like something ignites inside me. The kiss is brief, but we still pull away beaming.

"Thank you," he sighs. It is an odd thing to say after having snogged someone.

"What for?" I inquire quietly.

"For everything," he replies breathlessly. "For helping me today, for staying, for putting up with me for so long." Then he kisses me again, passionately this time. Our lips move in sync, fitting together perfectly, frantic hands clenching at each other's clothing. I can hear, and feel, Simon's heart racing, but mine is pounding just as hard. Reluctantly, we break apart.

He settles back down, leaning against me with his head on my shoulder and his face pressed into my neck. His warm breath tickles my skin and leaves me wanting more.

"I love you, Simon Snow," I whisper delicately.

"I love you too," he replies.


End file.
